After our unfortunate start with the sheep that tried to butt Ty when he was five months old, I gave the idea a rest for a few weeks, and then did a round-pen lesson with Sherry. Ty chased the sheep around as fast as he could go, his teeth clicking on their heels, paying little attention to my attempts to push him out wider so he could manage to get to head. Sherry seemed unconcerned. She told me that he simply didn't have enough confidence at this age to kick out wide, but it didn't mean much, as he was so young. As for his earnest attempts to bite, she merely said, "at this age, more power to him."

Sherry doesn't mind working a pup once or twice a month for a few minutes at a time, but she generally doesn't start serious training until after their first birthday. I was willing to wait, until the Goat Debacle began. It was so difficult for Bonnie to move those dang goats, and here I had an eager young dog chafing to be useful. Should I follow the advice of experts, or just plunge in stupidly and try to do the best I could to face the practical problems in front of me?

Naturally, I opted for Plan B. I cleared most of the brush out of a chicken pen that was only moderately steep. True, it was far from round (or even square), it had compost piles in it, and was pockmarked with chicken holes, but it was what I had. I had Bonnie put the chickens out, and the goats in, grabbed up a bamboo pole, and my happy young dog, now over seven months old, and waded into the fray.

Well, I was amazed. Ty walked up cautiously, went all the way around and scooped the goats off the fence, and brought them to me. Then he stood there. Holy cow, I think I may have a stock dog. I backed away, he fetched them. Who said starting dogs was hard? Then he dove in and pulled a mouthful of hair off the last goat. Hey! Take it easy!

Around we went, me falling into chicken holes and over stumps, Ty sometimes chomping, sometimes rating. But he was astonishingly gifted at getting them out of corners, of which there are more than four in that chicken pen, and he had a natural propensity for waiting to see what would happen, charming and highly unusual in a young dog.

He was simple to stop. I waited until we were holding the goats against the fence and said, hold it a minute, buddy, and he stood there and let me walk up and take him by the collar. No problem.

I practiced with Ty almost every day for a couple of weeks, just a few minutes at a time. He got more and more confident and I started being able to read him too. Unlike Bonnie at the same age, Ty works stock with his ears unblocked; when I say Hey! or Easy now (the only two words I've used so far, besides SHHH to start him out), he actually responds. Goats do not flock as well as sheep, so he has to watch that they stay together, something he does without any prompting.

Meanwhile, an internet friend suggested I try coaxing the goats with a feed bucket to get them down to the pasture. This turned out to be a great idea. Although I still need Bonnie to bring up the rear, the shaken bucket gets them (slowly) past the really tempting browsing spots. Not a miracle cure, but just that incremental difference between possible and impossible.

Today I decided my unround-pen was just too small. Ty seemed to want to work wider than he could get, which took me awhile to understand, since Bonnie never works any wider than she must. Of course, I don't have any place suitable to graduate to, so I used something unsuitable, the home goat paddock. This is a half acre obstacle course of gullies big enough to hide in, brush piles, stumps, a 10,000 gallon water tank, 100 foot tall redwood trees, and huge shrubs. Oh, it's also very steep. And muddy in places.

I had Ty bring the goats out of the chicken pen and we proceeded up the fence line for a bit. Ty was staying way back. Was he afraid of the goats? Afraid to work? I had just clocked him with my pole for totally unnecessary gripping a few moments before. But no, he was following all right. When one goat took a detour and hid behind a brush pile, Ty went right around and put him back with the others. Then he went back to his original distance. We went for a little walk in the forest, threading through the trees. I looked back and there was Ty, fetching along. Then I turned around and went the other way, giving Ty a cue with my pole that he should swing around to balance up, and he did. This was just too easy.

Then we came to another brush pile and got a bit jumbled up. The goats took the opportunity to take off at a boinging run down the hill. Ty flew after them. I knew they'd go all the way to the barn and Ty would have to get them out of that little stall, uh oh, should I call him back? Can I call him back? I decided to just watch what happened.

That's a long-legged dog I have. He caught and stopped them in their mad downhill stampede before they got half way to the barn, turned them all around and brought them back to me in a completely professional manner. No problem ma'am, that's my job. You see, I'm a stockdog.